I SHALL RETURN WITH WINTER

by CF WELBURN

  Suddenly Keleb’s head crumpled in revealing shattered bone and grey and red brains. He slumped and Oben blinked away tears to see Grinchell casting a large rock aside.

  “Never liked him.” Grinchell said, examining the twitching Ixna. “Now, get your arse back and don’t leave on your own again.”

  “Yes. Right away.” Oben said, rubbing his neck and hurrying back.

  Blin and Ortho eyed him curiously when he stumbled back to the sled, but before they could speak Grinchell climbed around the rocks, this time brandishing Keleb’s severed head. He waved it at the three remaining Ixna.

  “Any of you try anything like this again and I’ll do the same to you and piss down your neck holes.”

  Nobody did anything like that again.

  * * *

  The next day they found the entrance to the cavern and they explored it by torchlight. It was strangely quiet out of the wind and with no snow underfoot. The only sounds were a distant dripping and the soft scuffing of their boots.

  On a bone-strewn ledge, next to a skull so cold the centuries old skin still clung to it, lay the horn. Perhaps five feet in length, wrought of ivory and banded with hammered bronze, it took three men to lift it and strap it to the sled.

  They celebrated that night. The journey was half over, and though they were but half the company that had set out, they knew the way home, and it was mostly downhill. They drained the reserves of wine, sang for a while and talked about passing their story down and living on in legend as long as Gillad himself.

  “Who was he, anyway?” Oben asked, drunk and nodding at the lonely skull.

  “Just some cunt who thought he knew better than everyone else.” Magfor said.

  “Well, he knew how to pick a good drinking spot.” Blin said.

  “My pa said he was the greatest Taliskan of that age. He drove the giants from Nor. Discovered Skaligar, too.”

  “Don’t look that impressive now, does he?” Magfor said.

  “Have some respect.” Reji said.

  “Why? Bastard made us come all the way out here. I’ll probably lose some toes for him!”

  “Both of you shut up.” Grinchell said, precluding another of the cousins’ pointless arguments.

  “But what was he doing so far north?” Oben asked, still not satisfied.

  “The way I heard it,” Ortho said, “he was searching for a mammoth’s graveyard.”

  “That ain’t it, you idiot.” Lorr said. “It was Deriath, he was looking for. To seal it with the horn.”

  “That don’t sound right…” Reji said.

  “Just drop it.” Grinchell growled. “Read the scriptures when you get back. Ask Kavark, whatever. Just give me some bloody peace.”

  Oben opened his mouth then closed it again. So, nobody knew. Great. Well this bloody horn better work, otherwise it might be his head that was the centre of discussion.

  * * *

  The next day they set out with aching heads but lighter spirits. Every step brought them closer to home, to wives, to beds, to hearths.

  On the twenty-second day they were set upon by wolves. The starving pack attacked the sled dogs first, killing two. The men drove them off with axes and torches, but Lorr was bitten several times on his wrists and forearms. He tried to continue, riding on the sled with the great horn, dripping blood into a frozen pool on his lap, but succumbed to fever on the twenty-fourth morning.

  * * *

  That left six, pushing on closer to home each day, and for nigh on seven days there were no incidents.

  But a dispute between Reji and Magfor which had been brewing for several days, finally exploded. It started about how best to stack the firewood. Ridiculous, really. But exhaustion had made them tense and old arguments were dredged up; how Magfor had once slighted Reji’s daughter; how Reji had once poisoned Magfor's dog. Before anyone knew what was happening, they were fighting. The others watched in amusement at first. Blin clapped, and even Grinchell smirked at the diversion. But it quickly turned ugly. Magfor had his hands about Reji’s throat and the red-headed man’s eyes began to bulge. He gasped, but Magfor did not let go. In desperation Reji plunged a knife between his cousin’s ribs. Magfor fell back, wide-eyed as the snow turned red beneath him.

  “What have you done?” he gasped.

  Reji came to his senses, fell to his knees, and tried to stay the blood whilst muttering apologies.

  “I’m sorry, cousin. I couldn’t breathe! I didn’t mean to—” his words were cut off as Magfor stabbed a knife up into his throat. The two cousins lay side by side, bleeding out, meeting each other’s eyes in one final challenge. Whoever died first would lose the argument. They coughed and bubbled, frothed and foamed. And then were still.

  “Finally, some fucking silence.” Blin said.

  * * *

  And so, they were four. Another dog died and they were forced to take turns pulling the great sled.

  On the thirty-third day the familiar peaks and ridges around Threlwich came into view. One more night and day in the wilderness would see them back.

  On the final morning they woke to find Ortho gone. They looked for him, but it did not take them long to realise he had fled. He had taken what remained of their provisions. Blin cursed him for a coward, and Grinchell roared at the grey sky when he realised there was to be no breakfast. Oben was not surprised. They should have seen it coming. The Deyma had been looking for a way to escape ever since Taliskar and had constantly made his displeasure known on the Shadow Fields and the Swan Road. Now, one day from Threlwich with no one left to watch him, he had seized his opportunity. His fading tracks led away to the south, but nobody had the heart to follow. Oben wished him luck, and silently regretted he was not with him. It was too late now, smoke from Threlwich’s fires could be seen rising over the final ridge. With Grinchell glowering at their backs, Oben and Blin bent, took up the reins and struggled on the last few miles.

  * * *

  Thirty-four days after they had set out, just three of the twelve who had left staggered back through Threlwich’s northern gate. Griz stood waiting and had men help them pull the sled up to the door of Gulmorgon’s lodge. There was no fanfare, and though they were welcomed with cheer, there was a heaviness in the air.

  Gulmorgon stood looking into the fire, and when she turned, her face was drawn. Oben felt slightly put out after all they had been through. They could at least have prepared warm baths or a banquet. A chair would have been nice.

  “Your return is timely.” Gulmorgon said, with no hint of a smile. “Kai has left Eld. We expect him tomorrow at dawn.”

  18

  THRELWICH IN SPLINTERS

  Night came and went, and though he slept on a straw pallet, surrounded by wind- and wolf-stopping walls, Oben felt no peace. His mind was awhirl: of the men come and gone on the ill-fated quest; of what the next day might bring. If he had hoped that by completing his third and final task he might be absolved from toil, he had been mistaken. He was watched as closely as ever. He heard whispered rumours of what was expected of him. Him! A farmer, a stable hand, a foreign cripple. But could he blame them? Had he not cultivated the Shadow Fields? Travelled the Swan Road? Survived the horrendous trek up to Skarvor and returned with the Giant’s Bane? Yes. He’d also received a mark from the lightning and discovered the Thunder-Blade. He was beginning to believe it himself. He had nine toes, for fuck’s sake. How could Seri have known about that?! He should have been dead ten times over by now. And all of this without the Trinity! He hadn’t prayed since he'd arrived in Threlwich. He hadn’t made any offerings in a year. Could his survival be credited to Ishral, instead? Did the goddess have his back in more than one sense? It was becoming difficult to deny the evidence.

  But if he were the Conduit, did it mean his path was already decided? To betray Edale? To hang from its gallows? No, he still could not believe that.

  * * *

  Griz’s annoyingly square head appeared around his door, and Oben groaned. He’d witnessed every hour
of that night and felt exhausted. At least in the northern wastes he had been left in peace. The howling storms had made him anonymous. But there was nowhere to hide here. Everyone waited.

  Nearly every door had been boarded up, and sharpened pine trunks had been set at strategic points along the streets to impale Kai’s horde.

  Griz led him up to a rampart to wall walk, where he could look to the east.

  Kai had mustered upwards of a thousand men, and they gathered now with spears and axes glinting in the red morning sun. But it was to the large creatures that stood amongst them that Oben’s attention was drawn. He counted five at first, and then saw another three away in the distance.

  When Oben had heard mention of giants he’d imagined men fifty feet tall like the giants in childish tales of castles in clouds. In reality the creatures stood fifteen feet, more than twice the height of the tall Taliskans. They wore sack cloth, and their skin was grey. With hands the size of wagon wheels, each knuckle was like a knee cap.

  He wondered what Kai could have offered them to bring them to battle against Threlwich.

  A lean, heavily tattooed man strode out from the ranks, and Gulmorgon leant out to address him.

  “Keep your words, Kai. Your presence here is an insult.”

  Kai flashed a grin through his ink-blackened face. He knelt and looked up. “But I offer you the chance to be my bride. To rule at my side, when I make Edale mine.”

  “So, there are worse things than death.” Gulmorgon said, drily.

  Kai frowned.

  “How disappointing.”

  Kai wasn’t what Oben had been expecting. He wore a cloak of dark feathers and an iron crown with a wolf’s skull on top. His face was covered with tattoos and his expression wry. Apart from the ridiculous crown, he looked like a man one might find in the noisiest part of a tavern. Ifor stood just behind him in the first row of men.

  The Tanda chief stood up and said,

  “Then, I’m afraid you leave me no choice.”

  “You’ve choice enough. Leave and live, stay and feel my axe.”

  “Now, that’s not nice, is it?” Kai said with a mock frown. “After my generous offer, and all. You have noticed how many men I have. That’s respect, Gulmorgon. That is true leadership. They will die for me, and I for them.”

  “We have twice your numbers.”

  “Aye, but they ain’t Tanda are they. I’ll admit, you Ixna are not bad. Worthy of marriage, certainly. But who else do I see up there, Bael? Ferra? Tiandol? And don’t get me started on the Kazra.” He winked at Grinchell.

  “Do you include the giants in those numbers? Stooping to comport with beasts.”

  “The opposite of stooping in this case. And yes, why not? You have something I need, and I’ll do what it takes to get it.”

  Kai turned his gaze on Oben, as if he were chattel. The Tanda chief was smaller and thinner than Grinchell and Mascal, yet he had such confidence, that for the first time Oben considered they might lose. He’d still be a prisoner, but he had a suspicion he would rather be Gulmorgon’s than Kai’s.

  “The Conduit stays with me,” Gulmorgon said.

  “So, it’s true. You know, I didn’t believe it. Not truly. But hearing the mighty Gulmorgon say it so plainly, well, I'm glad I got dressed for the occasion.”

  “I do believe it. And you should fear him. Your giants will make no difference. What is it you’ve offered them? I do hope it’s your body.”

  Once more Kai laughed.

  “Ah, Gul. You and I could have made such a great couple. Me ruling, you at my side, refilling my cup. We’d have watched the world burn.”

  “I’d piss in your cup.”

  “Playing hard to get. I like it. Gets my pulse up! And to answer your question, I’m building them ships.”

  “Why would beasts need ships?”

  “To reach Nor. To be reunited with their kin. I can be quite the romantic.”

  “You’d allow them back to Taliskar?”

  “I’m done with Taliskar. As should you be. It was an insult to be sent to this… place.” He swept a feathered sleeve around at the endless snow and rock. “And you’re clever enough to know Seringil will never let you keep Edale for yourself.”

  “Seringil’s an old man.”

  “Then he’ll send that heart-eating freak son of his. Fuck the homeland and fuck the Bearn. With the Conduit, the South will be mine. Ours! Then it’s sunshine and apples all round. This is your last chance. Marry me or serve me.”

  Gulmorgon spat over the battlements. Kai frowned.

  “Then, I suppose we should get on with it.”

  Gulmorgon shrugged. “I suppose we should.” She nodded to Gadziel who stood at her side and said, “Men!” A thousand axe and spear shafts thudded on the ground and along the wooden ramparts.

  Kai grinned, and looked at Oben again.

  “Run and hide little one. Wouldn’t want you to get crushed as we turn this place into twigs. We’ll have introductions in good time.”

  Oben wanted to respond. Wanted to say something witty, or scathing, but Griz took his elbow and led him away down the steps, and away from the base of the wall.

  * * *

  “Where are we going? Where are you taking me?”

  “The Tanda bastard has a point,” Griz said, pushing him back towards the centre and Gulmorgon’s lodge. “Things are about to get ugly. Don’t need you going missing or getting captured. You’ll be needed soon enough.”

  “I don’t want to hide.” Oben surprised himself by saying it. He was afraid. Terrified even. Not just of the giants, but of Kai and of Ifor, who was likely itching to take his other toes. But he’d never seen a battle. He’d not be locked away in some cellar with weeping children. And being locked in, meant being trapped. Perhaps a war between his enemies was just the opportunity he had been waiting for.

  “Just be ready,” Griz said. They rounded a corner, passed between more blockades and reached the back of the lodge. Griz looked around, opened a lock and swung the door inward. “In there, now. The horn is on the roof, so we need you close by. For some reason.” he said and shoved Oben roughly into the dark room. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he saw his prediction was true. A score of young faces peered back at him, as well as several old and withered ones.

  The door slammed shut and was bolted on the other side.

  “Let me out!” he banged against the wood. “I can fight!”

  “Shhh!” an old woman hissed. “You’ll scare the little ones.”

  “Best be quiet, southerner,” another even frailer woman said. “Don’t bring ’em down on us.”

  “Here.” An old man extended a trembling hand towards him. “Have a bit of cake. Sit with us.” Oben looked around at the children, back at the door and then sighed. Cake it was.

  “Thank-you,” he said, sliding down the wall and chewing on something that tasted like damp wood.

  * * *

  Time stretched on and the air grew muggy. Someone had terrible breath, and the old woman’s phlegmy rasp was making him sick. He looked ever more frequently to the door. Soon, he heard fighting. Metal clashing, dull thuds, the occasional scream, far off at first and then closer and louder. Running feet passed by their door.

  “This way!” someone shouted, just outside and a bang shook the building, showering dust from the rafters. The children gasped, the old folk muttered. Oben clenched and unclenched his fists.

  He should have gone with Ortho. And what of Blin? She’d have been made to fight. Perhaps, she’d come for him. Maybe she was already dead. Another terrific explosion ended this train of thought. He could do nothing and so put his head between his knees and recited scriptures ingrained in him since youth.

  All of a sudden there was a banging at the door. Everyone looked up, like wide-eyed rabbits. He heard the lock turn, and the door flew open.

  “Oben, get your arse up here.” It was Griz again. He was covered with dust and had blood smeared on his cheek.

 
; “It’s the horn. It’s not working. Gulmorgon thinks it will for you—”

  Griz never finished his sentence. A spear came from out of nowhere and took him through the side of the neck. His eyes went round. Oben blinked, unable to move as the owner of the spear withdrew it and rounded the doorframe.

  The stocky Tanda was drenched in blood and wild-eyed. He smiled savagely as he realised whom he had stumbled upon.

  “My lucky—”

  Oben brought his knee up into the man’s stomach, ducked under the spear, stepped on Griz’s twitching hand and broke into a run.

  * * *

  Dust and fire choked the morning air. Oben ran. He didn’t know where. Down an alley, buildings trembling on either side, smoke billowing overhead, explosions rumbling the cobbles beneath his feet. At the end of the alley, he emerged into a small square. Dozens of men were clashing in skirmishes, metal clanging, men screaming, swearing and dying. He darted for another alley on his left, leapt over a bleeding Tanda fumbling with a knife hilt jutting from his chest. “There he is!” somebody yelled behind him. Oben turned and ran towards an open doorway, leaping debris, slipping on wet, red soil.

  He darted through the door and up a spiralling staircase, emerged on the roof, and stumbled to a halt. The outer walls lay strewn like the sticks of a child’s wooden fort; smoke and screaming rose up from the ruined streets. The giants picked their way through the wreckage. The nearest one brandished a broken tree with the branches snapped off.

  Oben’s morbid fascination shattered when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs behind him. Two of Kai’s men burst through the doorway.

  “Don’t do nothin’ stupid now,” the first one said. He was a big man with red cheeks, sweating profusely from the fighting and the climb. The second was thin with wild hair and a bleeding ear. Oben backed towards the edge of the roof and looked down. “We ain’t here to kill you. You’re coming with us.”